


Setting the Safety

by thejessbeast



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Trapped In Elevator, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vulnerability, pre 3B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 08:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1771669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejessbeast/pseuds/thejessbeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped in an elevator with Derek Hale while pursued by monsters? There are sure to be some things worse in this universe, but Stiles can't think of anything worse right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Setting the Safety

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyes/gifts).



> [pyes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pyes/pseuds/pyes) asked tumblr for an elevator fic before season 3B started -- back when all we had was "Lose Your Mind" and Lydia talking about how they came out of the dark. So [I fulfilled this request on my tumblr](http://stupidteenwolffeelsruiningmylife.tumblr.com/post/75092860734/elevator-scene) in a frenzy of possibility. I am finally posting it here. Minor edits from the original.

The elevator jerks to a stop and Stiles’s stomach lurches up while his body falls to the floor.

Derek growls just as the lights shut off. Derek’s eyes are the only two tiny points of light in the darkness.

And before Stiles can even think about stopping himself he sighs into the darkness, “Well, this is the best thing ever.”

It’s certain there are worse things than being trapped in an elevator with Derek Hale. You could be trapped in a dark school with a rabid Alpha werewolf stalking the halls in search of your best friend. You could be paralyzed on the floor of the police station while a psychopath threatens your dad with a gun. You have your dad kidnapped by your English teacher and held as a human sacrifice beneath a magical tree stump. You could not know if you’re awake or asleep or secretly a vicious murder chess piece.

Like, perspective? Stiles has it.

But being trapped in an elevator with Derek Hale? The Derek Hale who you’ve been having weird lingering dreams about? The Derek Hale who just pulled you out of his burning car? The Derek Hale who can probably smell all the weirdness just emanating from all of your pores right now?

Yeah, there are worse things that have happened. But there are no worse things right the hell now.

Stiles scoots to his feet - knees and shoulders rolling - and pulls his phone from his pocket. No signal in the elevator, but at least he can see now.

See Derek prying the elevator doors apart. And it’s just a huge fucking wall of concrete - they are perfectly caught between two damn floors. There’s not even a section to have Derek get his claws in there and pull them in a direct-

Except Derek tries that anyway, punching both fists into the concrete.

The elevator floor jerks again beneath Stiles’s feet, but he keeps his balance this time. The levels of vicious metal squackings are beyond deafening - it’s so loud Stiles can smell the metal’s resistance.

Though that could be fire. Or failing breaks.

"Derek!" Stiles shouts, taking a shaking step forward in the small elevator. "Derek!"

"I’m a little busy, Stiles." Derek doesn’t even look at him.

"I mean, obviously you are." Stiles reaches for the open door of the elevator as the whole rig shakes again as Derek tries to haul them up. "But I’d like to remind you that we are about 5 stories in the air and while you are capable of surviving epic falls onto sharp and pokey objects, I definitely and 100% human and my fragile little bones will shatter like china."

Derek doesn’t pull his hands out of the wall, but he does stop trying to move it. “We don’t know if they’re still chasing us. We need to get to the mountain ash in my apartment.”

"And it’s really not going to be useful if I’m dead." Stiles slaps Derek in the shoulder.

Derek just stares, eyebrows rising dangerously close to his hairline.

"And if we can’t get out, technically they can’t get in either."

Derek pulls his hands out of the wall. There are literally hand sized holes in the concrete. Stiles bites his lips against laughter.

Because if you start laughing in a stalled elevator, there’s no stopping.

"Let’s just wait," Stiles says. "It’s probably just a downed line or something."

The minutes stretch into hours as Stiles learns that small talk (along with using stairs and saying please) is not one of Derek’s skills. While being trapped in an elevator with Derek was high on the scale of bad-things-happening-to-Stiles-Stilinski-at-this-very-moment, being trapped in an elevator with a surly, pouting Derek Hale while you attempt to make useless small talk about absolutely anything while your phone slowly runs out barriers is so much worse.

It doesn’t really stop Stiles from talking though, to be fair, nothing really does. He talk about mmorpgs, Batman, the history of Italian currency, the history of Flemish currency, a weird rock he once found as a kid, that one time he threw a rock at Scott because Stiles and him had gotten into _triple-dog daring_ territory and Mrs. McCall had pitched and utter fit when she caught them with blood like pouring down over Scott's eyes and Stiles’s mom had totally overreacted and while Stiles totally did mean everything he had to write in the apology letter, he, like, still had to write it and everything.

That one at least makes Derek smile - not any one of his dry sarcastic ones either, but a full wave of soft delight.

The flashlight app on Stiles’s phone politely displays the battery remaining. 12%. 11%. 9% (skipping 10%, the bastard). It rests between them as they had long ago given up on standing, their crossed knees almost touching.

"You don’t happen to have your phone on you, do you?" Stiles asks, checking his pockets for the 10th time for something else to do with his hands.

"It’s in what remains of my Toyota. Like I’d told you before."

"You know, things can change."

The look Derek gives him is one of pure venom. Stiles smiles.

It’s only after Stiles’s phone blinks it’s 4% battery warning, 2 hours into the forced elevator-living experience, that the little dregs of hope in Stiles start to fade. So Stiles talks about Latin roots of words, weird square roots, the lizard man conspiracy theory that might actually hold water now that we know about Kanimas, just how lame running actually is now that he has to do it all the time, the perfect topping of a pizza, the way dawn light always looks so much warmer than sunsets, how—

As soon as the phone gives up the ghost and shuts itself off, the elevator is plunged into total darkness.

Stiles opens his mouth - just to keep talking, keep going, wait for power - but there’s nothing there. Everything is stopped up in his throat like it’s going to drown him.

The silence overtakes the tiny space. He’s not even sure he can hear his own heart. The silence grows walls and garden paths all its own. It forms forests and mountains and canyons. It forms city, metropolises, and raging economic states. It forms and reforms countries. It overthrows totalitarian states. It converses in revolution. It springs renaissances and rains down plagues. It explores great continents and tears down patriarchies. It reaches the very depths of seas and the farthest reaches of the stars.

The silence is limitless.

There’s a beating at his chest - like something’s trying to get in. Something’s trying to take over him once more and drag him back into the depth of the Nematon and he’ll never see his Dad again and he’ll never get to see if Derek would ever even may look at him softly—

Derek’s hand firmly slides over Stiles’s wrist. “Stiles, calm down.”

"They used to come out of the dark, remember." Stiles doesn’t mean for his voice to sound that frail.

Derek’s other hand wraps around Stiles’s shoulder. It’s not gentle, but it’s there. “You said it yourself, if we can’t get out, they can’t get in.”

Stiles nods his head. “Can you see in here.”

"Sort of." Derek’s hand starts smoothing down Stiles’s arm. It settles on top of his hand. "There’s not really any light. But I can feel it. I can smell it. I know where you are."

Stiles takes a deep breath; ready to try again.

Derek’s voice is bright in the darkness. “I once told Cora that broccoli were just baby trees and if you ate them without chewing them each a hundred times then they would grow in your stomach and you’d spout a tree from your mouth.”

"Wait, really?"

"Well, Laura had told me the same about watermelon seeds when I was a kid, so Mom had dispelled that one for Cora early. I had to be creative about it."

Derek’s thumbs trace small patterns across Stiles’s hands as he talks about Laura’s favorite bad TV movie that he can’t remember the name of (Stiles does, it’s _Step-Sister From Planet Weird_ ), how boring driving across the country is, the weird way the burger joint downtown smells (Stiles suspects that one of the fry cooks has some marijuana plants hidden in a storage room), the worst book he read that one time because the party was boring and it was the only book he could find and it was in the bathroom of all places (it was _John Carter of Mars_ ), the stupid way Isaac used to horde scarves around the loft (it’s like 65 degrees out and he doesn’t even tie them right).

"How is he doing, by the way?" Derek asks, his voice closer than it was the last time he spoke.

Stiles scoffs, “Who, Isaac. Being a pain in my ass, as normal. He never cooperates.”

"Never?"

"He’s always, _don’t be mean to me, I have issues._ "

Derek’s hands tighten on Stiles’s wrists. “Has anyone ever told you that you are a complete asshole.”

Stiles gulps. “Yes. Often.”

The breath of Derek’s sigh hits Stiles hard in the face. “So as long as you know that.”

The silence is uncomfortable this time, scratching at Stiles’s skin. “Well, I guess I don’t have to be all the time.”

"That might be a good idea."

"Says Mr. Sourwolf."

"I thought we agreed never to call me that again."

Stiles laughs.

"Thank you."

Stiles feels the hum before the lights spring back on, the elevator lurches again. Derek’s eyes are looking straight into his, unreasonably close to his face, and a bright gold and green.

The doors slide shut with a wheeze and the elevator continues it’s path up to the sixth floor.

Derek stands, his fingers sliding off of Stiles’s wrists. He holds out a hand to Stiles. “You’re welcome.”

Derek’s eyes flash. “Are you ready.”

Stiles shakes out his shoulders. “Why the hell not.”


End file.
